


Road of Girl

by TenWoolf



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Bite Kink, Biting, F/M, Multi, Odaxelagnia, Polyamory, biting kink, overuse of prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenWoolf/pseuds/TenWoolf
Summary: In which everything is the same except that Blue lines her romantic needs with human chew toys.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had this thought of "what if Blue doesn't even like kissing but wants to bite people" and then also thought "in a non-dog or vampire way."
> 
> So I explored that. Sorry it's not longer.

The fortune's been retold more times than she can count. She's only said it out loud about three times. But the women of 300 Fox Way were capable forecasters when it came to reporting on tragedies.  
Not that Blue was a tragedy. In the Greek sense it'd only be a tragedy when her true love died, not the before fueled by prediction. She was in the state of grey cloud cover that had her gazing skyward to mutter "looks like rain". 

She'd only said it out loud about three times but the words turned around in her had like a dryer with a load jeans. The tumbling and clattering of zippers got more and more annoying as days went by. Denim always seemed to stay damp with splotches of humidity. 

And the stress of humidity turned to sprinkling rain, then some easy summer shower where sunlight broke through the clouds. The sunlight of Adam Parrish and his endless want without words to ask for. 

Adam wanted to kiss, wanted to hold her, wanted to be the person with a person. Which never seemed to be apart of a checklist Blue wanted to included on. 

When Adam held her, embraced that promised opportunity and reserved comfort, she pursed her lips inward like wax on a seal. She kept her teeth locked, her jaw tensed. God she wanted to bite him. 

It was never a loophole. Wasn't a replacement. It happened like a habit formed under covers. 

When steady fingers pulled out waves of little moans, she plugged herself up with the meat of her palm or the flesh of her arm. When she'd pinch the lips of her cunt or the top of her thighs and pretend they were teeth marks. When she fingered herself at uncomfortable angles, rutting fingertips against her clit, she'd bite her wrists. She'd sink in and ride out the lurching of her body on her bed beneath cardboard trees. 

She could hide bruises with sleeves or bracelets. Nobody needed to know that Blue Sargent's orgasms came with teeth marks. 

But she couldn't bite Adam. Sweet flawed Adam didn't need her loves bites. 

\-- 

Gansey was easier. His aggravating Ganseyisms were like mouth guards, unromantic and coyly colored. They were made for her teeth. 

He was kind, put his foot in his mouth so often there were tread marks on his tongue, and when he wasn't saying the right thing he was simply doing the right thing. 

So when they took joy rides to the edges of county lines, the pig rattling along in conversations with Gansey, it seemed opportune. 

He made the aggressively idiotic decision to put his hand on her shoulder, to touch the curve of her jaw, trace her hairline and lips. 

Gansey is perfect. Like drinking bourbon for the thousandth time. Every lock of his hair coursing through her fingers and every minuscule rise of a freckle on his face under her tongue. It's the habit in the first time that catches her. When he cradles his hands in the small of her back, the nervous tick of fear. And the way he hitches his breath too deep in his throat. And then the way he sinks in to Blue's suggestion when she traces the line of his neck too. He falls to the pitiful pose of a maiden, back curved at an uncomfortable angle to level the field. 

She feels like Nosferatu when she bites the meat of his shoulder and hears him gasp. Gansey does it like a sound effect, meant for a tv show or a novelty keyboard. His gasp should be filed under a copyright and given its own recognizable name, like Wilhelm's Scream. 

\--  
When she could finally kiss him she did it with teeth. She left indentations on his lips and tore away the smiles he saved for her. And when she could swallow his gasps and hitching breaths she consumed the rumor of her Greek tragedy. All she had now fit under her tongue. Every memory and taste on the sectioned buds to linger and twist and enjoy.  
\-- 

She included Henry when she started to say They. The simple little expression of plurality that she donned like a well worn coat, sinking in to the comfort of its familiarity. She and Gansey were a they. And when Henry asked about the depths of her affections for Gansey, made jokes about bruises to share, she decided to expand her they. 

First kisses seemed sharp. The sucking sensation on her mouth was too much for a first bit of contact. Blue liked to be blunt. Down to the frame of her character, she was blunt. 

So when she put Henry's wrists to a headboard and let the creak of wood be her timer, he keened like she hurt him. And the hums in Henry's throat were agreeable and pleading. Where Gansey had gasps, Henry hummed in deep frequencies. His guttural purr was a long stained thank you, again and again. 

Blue left her mouth to worry at every place but his lips. His ministrations had him pursing his mouth to obscene shapes and peaking shape of his tongue darting out for company was coy and cruel. It took time to realize that Henry got bored after kissing. His own tragedy of satiation with the gentle press of lips in romantic expression. So Blue left him wanting and wanting, right up until he begged Blue and God to let him cum. In desperation, she would lap at his bottom lip with her tongue as her hand or Gansey's mouth pulled out the pleasure of his elastic moans. 

If Gansey was bourbon then Henry was cake, decadent and tooth rotting.


End file.
